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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845998">White Leather</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessenoSabaku/pseuds/JessenoSabaku'>JessenoSabaku</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Basically Sanji Getting Off to Wearing Ladies' Shoes, Closeted Character, Crossdressing, Feminization, Guilt, Implied Masturbation, Kink Exploration, Like two mentions of Sanji's dick and precome, Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:54:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessenoSabaku/pseuds/JessenoSabaku</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All the Strawhats had their own guilty pleasures.</p>
<p>Sanji’s fixation was shoes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sanji/Himself, Sanji/His Pretty Shoes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>White Leather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first finished OP fic since I hopped out of the fandom, like--Jesus, five years ago??? I speedwrote it as a sample to apply for an OP Zine, so sorry if it's not. Particularly beta'd well. Or shippy. But I hope you enjoy anyway! I wrote INCESSANTLY about Sanji when I was in the fandom in 2015, and it was nice to think about him again. I'll be trying to write more OP in the future as well, fingers crossed!!!</p>
<p>Thank you for reading, and hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Personal funds were hard to come by on the Sunny. All money went into Nami’s hands and into the collective pot. However, as pirates often do, each person pinched a few beli on their own time. They squirreled away a few bills and coins into a secret stash to use for hobbies, or food, or shiny trinkets. All the Strawhats had their own guilty pleasures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sanji’s fixation was shoes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only task more difficult than getting his shoes onto the ship was finding time to wear them. Cooking (at least) three meals a day, deboning and scaling fish, and performing meal prep kept him busy until the stars winked in the sky. After that, all he wanted was to collapse in bed. Tonight, though, he had completed his work early. There were no new impromptu catches that Luffy had begged him to stow away. When night draped its knitted blanket across the Sunny, Sanji found himself free. Rested. Alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of climbing into bed with the rest of the men, Sanji excused himself to the galley. To finish cleaning up and organizing for tomorrow, he claimed. No one thought twice. So, there he sat at the kitchen table, until he had smoked through half a pack of cheap cigs and felt safe enough to slip the shoebox out from the cupboard underneath the sink. Tucking the parcel under his arm, he silently made his way out onto the main deck and then lower, to the deck beneath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The aquarium was the only place that afforded him privacy. No one had business there at night, which left Sanji free to commandeer the room for himself. When he entered, there were no lights save for the moonlight drifting through the windows to illuminate the tank, which cast gossamer streams of cerulean on the suede seats below the tank glass and tiled floor. His skin thrummed as he sat in one of the seats at the table that encircled the mast in the center of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, he lifted the lid from the shoebox. His breath caught on the pungent scent of leather. Each shoe was lovingly wrapped in colorful paper from the boutique where he purchased them. He lifted one and tore back the paper to reveal a white leather stiletto with black soles and a thin strap that wrapped just above the ankle. The heel was six inches long--he had measured in the store just to make sure. He ran one hand along the soft, unblemished material and shivered from head to toe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t get his scuffed loafers off fast enough. Once stripped down to his bare feet, he unbuckled the strap and slid on that first shoe. The inner sole was warm against his toes, and he could already feel that six-inch spike digging into his heel. He hastily donned the other shoe and buckled them above his ankles, pulling the straps tight. Normally, he struggled to get the size right, since all shoemakers sized their products a bit differently. However, these fit perfectly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Extending one leg out across the floor, he watched the blue lights refract off the white leather. They danced over the fabric like living lace, making his rough-hewn skin glow delicately in the darkness. The soles melded effortlessly with the arches of his calloused feet. He couldn’t believe his luck, that these gorgeous articles, fit only for a lady’s grace, would embrace him without crease, without extra space, and without complaint. Not even the heels creaked when he stood up from his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took his first step and froze at the crisp sound of his heel striking the floor. After waiting a moment to confirm that nobody had heard and there was no one besides him and the gentle plops of the water that lapped at the aquarium tank, he took bolder steps until he was striding across the floor, hips swinging and heels clicking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking in stilettos always hurt. The angle of the heels crushed his toes against the inside of his shoe, and of course, he would return to his quarters at the end of the night with stabbing pains in the bottoms of both feet. He loved that, though. He was enchanted with the strain, and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it, having spent almost his entire life fighting with his legs. The promise of an ache in his calves, the arch of his back, the tension in his gluteal muscles--they had him stiffening in his pants with each step. Walking was painful, but nowhere near close to the agony of battle, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> how he looked: like those distinguished, mature women who shopped exclusively on the bourgeois side of town. Or like the young ladies with crystals ringing their fingers like brass knuckles, and their husbands-to-be trotting not far behind. After watching women so close and for so long, he could easily replicate the walk. The pronounced swish of their hips and the confident strut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mimicry would never make him beautiful, or desirable. Like this, though, he felt pretty damn close to embodying one of those traits. And at this point, he would take whichever he could get.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He practically wore himself out walking the perimeter of the room and checking himself in the warped reflection of the tank. The fatigue failed to dampen his spirits, though. He had only just reached the main event for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he strode back toward the table in the center of the room, he unbuttoned his shirt with fumbling fingers and reached in to cup his chest. His fingers brushed through the shock of golden hair between his pectorals, palms dragging against his nipples in a way that sent fire crackling up his spine. He teased himself for a brief few moments before unhooking his belt buckle to ease pressure off of his now-throbbing erection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he reached the table, he bent over the edge with his naked torso pressed against the cold wood and his back arched high and lean. His stilettos were high enough that his ass was angled at a level higher than where Sanji’s head rested. Heartbeat sailing high in his throat, Sanji flexed his calves to lift his hips higher, just like he imagined a woman would do for him someday when he was younger. Now, though--Zeff would be ashamed to know what fantasies occupied his time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guilt welled syrup-thick in his veins, and just as sweet. As he reached inside his slacks to palm his leaking cock, hips already burning with the need for release, he knew he could not satisfy himself with one round. Nor could he be appeased with imagining just one person standing behind him and spreading his thighs to watch him strain, and ogle the curve of his dripping shaft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was alright, though. He had all night. Or, at least, as long as his legs would hold him.</span>
</p>
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